Drugged Confessions
by God of Laundry Baskets
Summary: Coulson is recovering from the events in Avengers. Fury assigns Clint to be his baby sitter in hopes no state secrets will be leaked.


"We need someone to watch over Agent Coulson," Fury demanded as Clint walked into his office. He was facing the giant computer screens that lined his wall which displayed progress reports on the repair of the hellcarrier.

Clint sprawled down into the nearest chair, "Were you expecting someone else?" He made a show of looking around, "I don't know shit about taking care of sick people."

Not to mention that anyone who knew about him and Loki becoming BFFs while he was under the influence of. a staff would hardly find his presence restful. Fury had made the 'incident' strictly need to know so there less people then Clint expected who knew about Loki's mind control. However, there was no way Coulson didn't know. Clint's guilt still burned red hot but it was safely buried underneath layers of denial and smartass to be dealt with another day.

For now there was this farce to deal with. The silence lengthened as Fury continued to ignore Clint as he flicked through screens. Clint rolled his eyes, "Oh, I'm sorry. Fine. I don't know shit about taking care of sick people, Sir."

"You seem to be confused, Agent Barton. This wasn't me asking for a favor. This is an order. You are going to go and watch over Agent Coulson." Fury pivoted and turned his one eye'd glare onto Clint, "All you have to do is fetch things he needs. Keep everyone out of his room – and yes I do mean everyone. If he starts hallucinating or seizing then you should probably fetch a doctor."

Clint's eyes widened, "What? He might start what? And you want me to – "

"Those are just some unlikely side effects. Agent Coulson has made it out of surgery just fine and the progress reports say that he should be completely out of danger. He is heavily medicated on morphine and is not as in control of his tongue as I would like. You have a high enough clearance that any mission you were not directly involved in, you have permission to know." Fury pointed at the door, "Why are you still here? Get down to medwing. Keep everyone out. Make sure Agent Coulson is comfortable. Try not to annoy him too much."

Clint took a deep breath and sprung up from his chair. He strode out of Fury's office, not quite running but trying to work off a little energy before he got to the medwing. He would take the scenic route through the hellcarrier. Not that that was hard. It was worse than any Navy ship he had been on but he was used to memorizing layouts of buildings. Even if you had to run up two decks to get to a office that is five decks below you, it was all just a matter of increasing complexity.

His hands clenched and he wished he could run over to the range and let out some steam before going to Coulson and the mess of emotions tied with that but he could imagine Fury's reaction. Coulaon usually was the one who was watching him heal since Coulson was one of the few Agents who could keep him and Natasa in bed long enough to heal.

Another more entertaining endeavor would be to run over to the lab where Stark was futilely trying to hide from Director Fury. Fury had him helping out with coordinating repairs and helping to keep the hellcarrier from blowing up. It was so much fun to to needle Stark until he got into a wordless rage and stalked off. It was a sport that took skill and courage but it was worth it to see Stark turn purple trying to keep himself under control. Sadly, Steve was winning by about twenty points right now even though he didn't know he was playing. It wasn't fair.

In fact, Clint would take nearly any activity over watching over the man that he had indirectly almost killed. He wasn't ready to deal with that pile of shit yet. Maybe once the clean up of New York was finished he would find a nice place and have a solid break down. Till then, he was fine. Just fine.

Coulson didn't even like him, not really. They worked well together, sure, but it was always very distant and professional. Well, as professional as they got at SHEILD. When the bullets were flying and plaster and concrete were pelting them, Coulson had a frighteningly unruffled demeanor. As if it was an average day at an accounting firm rather than working for an organization which regularly sends them to infiltrate and disarm terrorists.

Clint reaches the door that the nice young nurse points him to after he asks for Coulson. At least Fury had given Coulson a private room which meant free TV. Maybe he could guilt Steve into bringing him a XBox or something. Or at least, bring Coulson an XBox. He sighed. He was just putting off the inevitable now. And drawing strange looks from the staff. He faced off with Loki even after being mind fucked by the guy. He fought an alien hoard and almost got blown up by a nuke. What's a drugged up handler after that. He could do this.

Clint thrusts open the door and stops in his tracks. Coulson is fucking smiling like a five year old who was promised unlimited candy forever. This was not an expression he was used to on the usually stoic man.

"Clint!" Coulson shouts happily, "Oh thank god Fury sent you as my babysitter. I was terrified it was going to be Natasha." Coulson giggled. Clint couldn't fucking move because had Coulson just giggled. He was half sure that one of them had to be hallucinating and which one of them it might be. His brain seemed to have stopped when presented with the paradoxical information of Coulson giggling. He hoped it would reboot soon.

"I'm the babysitter," oh god Coulson was snorted now, "the nanny of all these super heroes and now I get a super-nanny! I love that show. Plus my nanny is a sexy one. I used to have fantasies like this as a kid. I didn't just say that. Please stop me now." Coulson forced his words to a halt. He was comically squeezing his eyes shut as if that would help him keep the torrent at bay.

Clint wished he had thought to bring something to record this moment. With any luck there would be surveillance on the room and he could review the tapes later. When he was told Coulson was drugged up to his ears with morphine it didn't occur to him that this might be the outcome.

"Uh – " Clint began trying to find words.

"It's not that I don't have fantasies about your fantastic ass either especially when you are wearing your leather. Holy crap that stuff looks good on anyone. But the nurse this I got over when I entered SHIELD. Too many hurt people. God, I wish you were this quite on missions. Does com silence mean nothing to you. Not that I really mind but what if someone heard you? You'd get your ass kicked that's what."

Clint was pretty sure that morphine wasn't supposed to make you babble quite so much. Whenever he was put on pain meds he usually just ended up passing out. Most pain medication made him incredibly sleepy. His brain caught up to Coulson's words. Coulson had fantasies about him? Clint cleared his throat, "Are you – I don't – You like me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Coulson gave him the are-you-trying-to-be-stupid glare.

"Oh. Well," Clint tried to think of what to say. He knew he was blushing but he couldn't help it. Since when had this happened. He flailed about trying to think of something to say and awkwardly walked to the bed staring down at Coulson.

"Oh shit. You're going to start freaking out now aren't you," Coulson stared up at the wall, "I really wish my brain to mouth filter was back on. You're doing your whole 'no emotions' thing aren't you. Invading the hellcarrier was both stupid and not your fault. I know this is how you deal, but I've been meaning to talk to you about trying not to do that so often. It's not really the healthiest of coping mechanisms. Can we just watch TV or something so maybe I'll talk about things that wont send any agents into a coma."

"I think we should wait till you're off your meds and give me a chance to think about this." Clint had never really tried to think about his handler in anyway other than the fiercely competent man that he was. Now that he paused to conciser it though, Coulson was very attractive. Nicely muscled out without being bulky like Thor or Steve. He wanted to wait to see if Coulson felt the same while he wasn't high on drugs before trying to think about actually trying to have a relationship though.

"Why aren't you ever this reserved it the field. Drives me nuts when you rush in. You're not really a hand-to-hand fighter you know? Does sniper mean nothing to you?" Phil looked like he was trying to rush off the subject of the confession he just made.

"Look at all the blackmail material I already have gathered." Clint smiled.

Phil groaned, "I hate you."

"I thought you wanted to bone me."

Phil glared, "Shut up or you can walk your fine ass out of here." He paused glancing up at the ceiling, "Actually if you want to send Captain America in here – "

"Just so we're clear. I will never dress up like Captain America in order to fulfill whatever sick fantasies you have about him."

"God, no!" Coulson rubbed his eyes like he was trying to remove unwanted images from them, "Don't even suggest it. I don't need my childhood ruined, thank you."

Clint grinned. This was fun. Why he ever hesitated at Coulson-sitting he'll never know. He was volunteering for this assignment if it ever came up again.

Phil was pouting now, "Can't we just watch TV?"

Clint sat down in the chair next to the bed leaned back and propped his feet up on the railing of the bed, "Only if I get your jello. And I want to choose the show," he said as he snatched up the remote.

"You're mean."

"Hey now. Watch your TV, princess. If your good, I'll get you an original Steve Rogers. He's been littering the halls with doodles since Fury had him transported back to the hellcarrier."

"That seems fair. If your forget though, I'm going to make your life a living hell until you die."

Clint smiled, "I'm counting on that."


End file.
